


malevolent gods are better than none

by doctor_whatthefuck



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Bad Ending, Capture, F/F, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Macro/Micro, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Object Insertion, Suicide Attempt, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:15:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_whatthefuck/pseuds/doctor_whatthefuck
Summary: Guivres takes it upon herself to show a tiny would-be rebel her place in the new order.
Relationships: Amelia Earheart/Guivres (Rusty Quill Gaming)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28
Collections: Femdom Exchange 2020





	malevolent gods are better than none

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zai42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/gifts).



> title from crisis actors by lemon demon

Amelia’s skin crawls where the dwarves grip her, one on either side, hands locked painfully tight around her upper arms. They stare straight ahead down the corridor, blue-pulsing eyes fixed on something she can’t see. They’re holding her too high off the ground for her to get her bare feet under her, and even if they weren’t, she’s pathetically weak. Whatever these living zombies eat, she hasn’t been getting any of it.

The emergence from the tunnel is jarringly sudden. One moment she and her jailors are surrounded on all sides by rough-hewn stone, the next the space is exploding out around her, a cavern so vast that its ceiling is lost in darkness. She can actually pinpoint the moment her exhausted brain gives up on the scale of it, stinging eyes drifting back down to the floor.

There aren’t any piles of blackened bones lying in the corners. Amelia can’t decide if that’s a good sign or not.

The dwarves drag her further into the cavern, to a cleared, flat space. They release her at the same time, too abrupt for Amelia to get her feet under her; she cracks her knees hard on the stone, biting back a pained hiss. She lets herself have three seconds to breathe, counting them carefully, before pushing her aching body upright.

When she sees what’s in front of her, her knees almost give out again.

At first, her eyes literally refuse to understand the enormous mass of shining gold that stretches up to the roof of the cavern. It’s one thing to see a dragon in flight, wings outstretched and tail streaming behind it; another thing entirely to see one folded into itself in a mountain of shifting scales. The light from the braziers sets the gold glowing, rich and lustrous, until Amelia’s eyes sting viciously.

She doesn’t look away.

Guivres unfolds herself lazily, massive body rasping across the floor as her head dips, glowing eyes catching on Amelia below her. Her pupils narrow. “Amelia Earhart.” Her voice is low and rasping, and Amelia could swear she can feel it vibrating through the cavern floor. “Captain of the _Relentless_ , separatist and Harlequin. How far you’ve fallen. Again.”

It takes so much strength not to flinch.

“At least now,” Guivres continues,” you’re back where you belong, at my feet.” Now Amelia is looking, she can see the thin threads of blue bleeding into her scales, marring the gold like a million tiny cracks.

She pastes on a vicious smile. “It figures, that even after being possessed by an evil hive-mind, you’d still be so arrogant.”

The dragon… smiles? There’s something indulgent in her massive, scaled face that sets Amelia’s blood boiling. “I am not possessed, little Amelia. I’m part of something far greater than you could possibly imagine.”

“Greater than the Meritocracy?” she mocks.

The dragon snickers, sibilant hisses that sigh out from every corner of the cavern. “Most assuredly.”

“So you’re _not_ just a mindless tool for this thing, then?”

“Is every cell in your body a tool?” Guivres’ blue-mottled eyes are still serene. “I am one of many, one tiny piece of a whole that spans continents. It is a gift, and an honour.”

The laugh rips itself from Amelia’s chest, harsh and bitter. “You know what, oh mighty dragon? I think that’s bullshit. I think you’re so deep in this thing’s control that you have no idea _what_ you are, let alone any free will to speak of.” Amelia can feel her fear recede as she warms up to her point, every insult she throws at the decaying shell of a monster that _dares_ to think itself better than her buoying her spirits. “And you know what else? I genuinely pity you for it. I might be a prisoner, but at least I _know_ where I stand.” She spits on the cave floor. “Can’t believe I lost to _you_. You’re a fucking shadow of yourself.”

She glares up at the monster, waiting for the swat of a massive paw, the snap of those awful curving teeth, a burst of dragon-fire. Instead, Guivres _laughs_. It’s a horrible noise, a cracking, booming assault of sound that bounces off the walls and comes down like a hammer on Amelia’s eardrums.

The laughter subsides slowly, the scales around Guivres’ eyes still crinkled with mirth. Her head is dipped low enough for Amelia to make that out, now. Low enough for the sheer size of her teeth to come into focus. “For such an impotent, inconsequential thing, you _are_ bold. We destroyed your ship, killed your crew, drove you across the Northern Wastes in a mad quest for, what, vengeance? Then we destroyed your ship a second time, captured the poor fools you’d conscripted to replace all the trusted comrades we took from you, threw you into darkness with no hope of escape – and after all of that, you’ve yet to learn your place? Gracious, you must be slow.”

“My place?” The words chill her, for some reason, going deeper than the icy air of the cave.

“Mmm. You were a Harlequin, weren’t you, Amelia? One of those selfish, squalling brats, too stupid to see what the Meritocrats have done for you.”

“I thought you’d cut ties to the Meritocracy?” Amelia needles.

Guivres tilts her head. “I still love my family. And I’ll be reunited with them, soon enough. We’ll show them how much _more_ they could be, how much greater as part of the whole.” The dragon’s wings flex for a moment, and distantly, Amelia wishes she, or indeed anyone else, knew enough about dragon body language to have any hope of decoding that.

“Anyway,” Guivres continues, head bending on its serpentine neck until those smouldering blue-mottled eyes are even closer to her, “your place. I am not surprised you’re so uppity – I have always maintained it was a mistake to allow the Americas free reign over their affairs, no matter what my family insisted. But one would think, after all of this, you had learned a modicum of respect.”

“I don’t see anything here worth respecting,” Amelia sneers, and Guivres _grins_ , scaled lips peeling back from those massive teeth.

“We can correct that,” she murmurs, and then the mountain of scales _moves_

Amelia throws herself backwards, just about managing to miss the enormous claws as they come down. An impact behind her almost shakes her off her feet, and she spins to see her path blocked by the dragon’s other paw.

Hissing a frantic curse under her breath, she sprints for the gap

There’s a moment where she actually thinks she’s going to make it. One single, breathless moment, before she’s lifted bodily off the floor. Her stomach lurches at the movement, and she struggles as hard as she can, craning her neck to see the back of her coat held almost delicately between two of those golden claws. She’s already so high up, the stone floor receding fast – if Guivres dropped her now, she wouldn’t survive.

Amelia straightens her arms and rolls her shoulders, shrugging out of the sleeves of her coat, and then she’s free, tumbling out of the dragon’s hold. The fall is shocking, like they always are, a bewildering rush of air and colour, and Amelia spares a moment to hope.

Then a massive, scaled paw sweeps her up, arresting her motion just so; the impact barely even hurts. As soon as she’s realised what Guivres has done, Amelia is up and running for the edge again, braced to throw herself off – the paw bends, enormous tendons flexing under her feet. She loses her footing, the movement and the sheer _speed_ with which Guivres is raising her through the air pressing her down. All she can do is lie where she’s collapsed and rage.

If she’d thought Guivres was a giant from where she’d been huddled at her feet, it’s nothing to how she looks from right up close, clouded golden eyes as big as she is trained on where Amelia has fallen. From here, the light they emit washes bright over her, casting everything into gilded relief or stark black shadow. The _heat_ they emit makes her skin prickle with sweat.

When Guivres parts her lips to speak, her breath washes over Amelia, an almost physical weight. Gods, she’d love to say it stinks, just to be petty – but it just smells like _heat_ , like the shimmering air that rolls of sun-roasted rocks. She doesn’t want to remember the burning of Eiffel’s Folly, that concussive, boiling wave of pressure that had rolled over her ship. She doesn’t want to remember the attack, the gout of white-hot flame that they’d dodged, but only just; powerful enough to flatten them to the deck, hot enough that half the ship had caught anyway.

All this fucking creature has to do is breathe, and Amelia will die. She won’t even have a chance to realise she’s dying before she’s nothing but ash, scattered into the cavern.

“There we are,” Guivres says, and her massive thumb curls round, aiming for Amelia. She tries to roll out of the way, but another claw arcs down from the paw she’s held captive in, its sharp point coming to rest gently on the very centre of her chest.

“Settle,” the dragon orders, that cool, calm voice buzzing up through Amelia’s bones. “I’d rather not break you further.”

“You think I care?” Amelia spits back, pushing up against the claw until she feels her shirt fray and her skin tear, until the metal rasps horribly against her breastbone. “I’m not scared of death, lizard bitch, and I’m sure as shit not scared of a bit of pain.”

The dragon cocks her head. “Hmm,” she rumbles, “that _is_ a good point. Pain doesn’t frighten you at all.”

The claw still resting against her bone lifts slightly, and Amelia strangles her pained gasp when it comes away tacky with blood, drying too quickly on the heated metal. It _shifts_ , moving like molten gold, until the tip is broad and blunt, and this time it rests below the wound, pressing into the softness of her stomach.

Another shining claw descends, this one so sharp that despite its size, the curving point is no wider than Amelia’s arm, and hooks itself, ever so carefully, into the collar of her shirt. Amelia has only a moment to realise what’s about to happen before the claw pinning her raises far enough for Guivres to rip downwards, flaying Amelia’s shirt from collar to the waistband of her trousers in a single wrenching motion.

Amelia’s chest heaves, painfully winded. There’s a line of heat right down the centre of her chest, where the very point of the claw had brushed against her skin, against the burning wound. The rest of her now bare skin is suddenly chilled, far colder than the loss of a bit of thin cotton should leave it.

Guivres’ massive eyes peer down at her, pupils slitted. “However much you try to dress yourself up, to pretend to civility and responsibility, it’s plain to see what you are underneath that uniform.” This time, when that twisting red tongue flicks out, it ghosts across Amelia’s chest, brushing her naked skin. “A vicious, broken little beast, a fox that gnawed off its own leg to escape the trap. One that didn’t have the sense to curl up and let death take it.”

Guivres’ tongue flicks out again, and this time it touches her properly, one of the forks tracing hot over the puckered burn scar that now covers one side of her stomach; where her jacket had caught fire, and she’d been too busy frantically trying to board a lifeboat to pat it out before the flames ate into her flesh. Amelia tries to shove herself back, scuttle away from the monster above her, but that cursed claw comes down again with enough force to knock her flat.

The heat of the scales she’s resting on burning through the remnants of her shirt, Amelia forces herself to keep breathing. “At least I’m still me,” she whispers, harsh and cracked. “That’s more than you can say, you pathetic, monstrous bitch of a lizard.”

A chuckle that reverberates through her chest. “We’ll have you soon enough, little one, don’t worry on that account.” As she speaks, her claw dips back in again, hooking delicately under – under Amelia’s waistband.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she hisses sharply, struggling hard against the claw pinning her. It’s as immovable as stone, and Guivres only smiles. This time, when she skins Amelia of her clothing, pulling her trousers and underwear all the way down her legs and off, she does it slowly. Like she’s savouring it.

Amelia draws her legs up, trying to close them, to keep some sort of privacy. Distantly, she wonders what Guivres must think of her – tiny and fleshy, no metal scales to cover her skin and keep the soft parts of her safe.

“Oh no,” Guivres murmurs, “don’t hide from me, little one.” Her thumb lands on Amelia’s shins like a steel bar, forcing them down and pinning her even further. That long, thin – relatively thin, Gods – tongue flicks out again, forks twitching as Guivres’ head comes closer, close enough that her hot breath sets the uncovered parts of Amelia’s skin burning.

Amelia looks upwards, past the vast golden head and to the cavern ceiling, the lattice of dripping stone. Behind her eyes, she sees a stalactite coming away, slicing downwards like the bow of a falling ship.

Impossible heat slides against her core, and Amelia’s hips jerk before she can stop them, brutal reflex. She tries to snap her legs shut but all that does is trap the awful, slick thing between them, pressing up even harder against where she’s unprotected and raw.

“Fuck,” she gasps, “stop.”

The dragon only laughs, rolling through her like an earthquake, and Amelia squeezes her eyes shut. She tries so, so hard to keep the tears in, but they spill over anyway, shameful and stinging.

The flexing, twisting thing pressed against her angles upwards, finding the nub of her clit and attacking it with precision. Amelia gasps and struggles, but the massive, monstrous thing is unerring, the tip pulsing gently against her, rough and soft all at once. The texture is maddening, making her head swim and her skin crawl, and it’s so _wet_ -

The other fork forces itself between her tightly-clenched thighs, swiping broad and wet up her slit. Then it burrows in.

Amelia clenches down as hard as she can, trying desperately to keep it out, but the muscle of Guivres’ tongue is horrifically strong. She sobs as it forces her open, hot and unbearably thick, stretching her wide. Once it’s lodged itself inside her, it starts to pulse, rhythmically tensing and relaxing. She squirms, trying to pull her hips away – but all she can manage to do is writhe on it, an awful demonstration of how _much_ has been forced into her.

The dragon _hums_ , and Amelia howls at the vibration burning over her clit, like fire running right up her spine. “Fuck you,” she snarls, struggling harder, and Guivres just fucks her deeper, a low rumble deep in her throat that shakes through Amelia, like she’s no more solid than sand. The fork rubbing slick circles across her clit speeds up as well, dragging across it and setting the nerves alight.

“Stop, stop, stop.” The words don’t even sound like they’re coming from her anymore – she’s never heard herself make those noises. A sinuous twist of the thing inside of her, and words fail her entirely, everything heat and sensation and how horrifically _good_ she feels-

She’s coming before she even registers it, wailing as the pleasure is ripped from her. Every clench of her cunt drives her higher, hips stuttering into the melting heat smothering her clit as her vision whites.

Finally, the aftershocks stop, leaving her aching and broken in their wake. Her ribs quake with sobs, so violent she can barely breathe, and she wishes more than anything that she could cover her face, just for a moment. She doesn’t want to know what her face looks like now; doesn’t want this fucking monster to see what it’s done to her.

The slide of the massive tongue out of her is sickening, like Guivres is removing an organ. Before she can even catch her breath, it’s snaking around her, too tight even to struggle against, and she’s being hoisted into the air like she weighs nothing, limp and boneless in the hot, slick, encompassing grip. Her muscles won’t respond to her, head swimming with the impossible heat, and despite herself, her eyes slip uselessly closed.

Which is why she doesn’t realise what’s about to happen, until she feels the gentlest pressure against her cunt. Something broad and smooth, hard. Like metal.

Her eyes snap open, and she stares down at Guivres’ thumb resting between her legs, at the fucking golden _claw_ poised at her cunt.

“No,” she breathes, terror robbing her of her voice. “Please, please, no.” Struggling gets her nowhere, the flexing muscle keeping her arms pinned, squeezing her crushingly tighter until she goes limp once more, struggling for breath.

 _Yes_ , Guivres croons – with her voice? Or has she slipped her way into Amelia’s heavy, hanging head as well? The tongue lowers her, horrifically slow, until the pressure against her entrance is overwhelming; until, slicked and inescapable, it starts to push her open.

It really does feel like metal; shockingly, meltingly hot and utterly unyielding. She clenches around it desperately, trying to push the blunt intrusion out of her, but all she does is demonstrate exactly how massive the thing wrenching her body open is. It’s just at the edge of what she can take, and as she’s dragged further onto it, she can feel it widening with every inch.

“Take it out,” she begs, sick to her stomach at how weak she sounds, how tiny and pathetic and powerless. “P-please, please, fuck take it out!”

The rippling of the muscle holding her up is the only warning before she’s slammed down, as far as her body will let her go, and Amelia _screams_. It’s so _much_ , so fast – she feels impaled, stretched so wide she’s certain she must have torn something.

But when the tongue flexes again and eases her up, there’s no sharp bite to the pain, nothing that would suggest torn flesh. The hook of the claw presses against that aching spot inside her, burning up her nerves.

When she’s lifted off it again, she feels _empty_. But of course, it doesn’t last, before she’s pressed down again, stuffed full. It tears a horrible, broken cry from her, and through tear-hazed eyes she thinks she can see Guivres’ massive eyes crinkling in delight.

For a moment, the tongue loosens, and Amelia screams again as the full force of gravity pins her, impaling her even further and grinding the blunt tip up against her core. The terror that it’ll tear her and slip deeper has her feet scrabbling at the smooth metal, until Guivres takes pity and tightens her hold, taking Amelia’s weight again. Sliding her upwards again. Fucking in again, and this time there’s not even pain to distract Amelia from how overwhelming it feels to be so impossibly split open.

Guivres sets a rhythm, drawing her up and down as easily as a ragdoll, steady and ruthless. Time blurs, her sanity lost in a heat haze of pleasure so intense it _hurts_ , all over burning, no room left inside her to fight anymore.

She’s never been so full. There’s no way she can survive this, all of this.

Her orgasm hits her like a bullet; shocking and painful, leaving her broken in its wake. When she slumps, Guivres’ tongue takes her weight, and she only registers that she’s been moved when her back comes to rest against hot scales once again.

The claw eases out of her torturously slowly, until finally it’s gone, and Amelia’s left with only the ache of its absence. She rolls weakly onto her side, pulling her legs slowly up to her stomach and hugging them to herself. Guivres lets her.

It takes strength Amelia barely has left, not to be grateful for that

Amelia’s lips feel foreign to her, mouth dry and tongue heavy as a stone. She just about manages to force out the word “Why?” Her voice is disgustingly reedy, cracked down the centre.

Guivres chuckles, redolent with satisfaction. “Pain doesn’t scare you, little Amelia. You’ve felt too much of it for it to be anything but an old, stalwart friend. But what of pleasure? Pleasure, I though, you might fear. And was I not right?”

She was. She is. The gaping hole in Amelia’s heart tears a little wider, and she curls tighter into herself, naked and filthy and so, so tired.

“There,” Guivres croons above her, low and humming and inescapable. “You think yourself exceptional, Amelia Earhart, but I have met countless tiny things like you, and I’m sure I will meet countless more before I finally end.” Her thumb strokes over Amelia’s curled form, a mockery of a lover’s caress. “Still, you are _quite_ lovely when you break. Perhaps I’ll keep you like this a little while, hmm?”

Amelia presses her eye sockets into her knees, and shakes, and shakes.


End file.
